Lifeline
by Helena Gray
Summary: When Janeway is lost under mysterious circumstances, the Voyager crew and its acting Captain relentlessly search. But hope fades, time passes, and the crew must move on. Not all of them can...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these lovely characters - just borrowed them for a bit, for my own selfish enjoyment. No copyright infringement intended.

Decided to start posting this, though I must warn you - this story is not yet finished. I have about six chapter at this point, and I will have those up fairly soon, once my editing is done. I do anticipate having some extra time over the next month to work on the remaining chapters, so my hope is that this will be a complete story by mid-March. Feedback and comments are most welcome and very, very appreciated! It's meant a lot to receive reviews on my other pieces. Really helps to keep me going. Thank you!

**Summary: **When Janeway is lost under mysterious circumstances, the _Voyager _crew and its acting Captain relentlessly search, all but tearing the Delta Quadrant apart with their bare hands. But hope fades, time passes, and the crew must move on. Not all of them can...

* * *

**One**

_It's warm where she is. There's a steady humming beneath her feet - it's a welcome sound, always comforting, as is the scattered conversation that surrounds her. She glances around the room - it's crowded - and she's filled with calm, steady emotion. Pride, happiness, and something distinctly maternal. She's worried about them - not in the sense of an impending crisis, but in a general, underlying way - and she closes quickly on the feeling that she'd do anything to protect them. She sips at a cup of coffee, its warm, aromatic character fulfilling her in a way that is welcome and expected. Everything is as it should be._

_A voice draws her attention, and she looks across the table, smiles. He asks how she slept. She feels a familiar pang, emanating from within her core. She takes a breath and puts it back in place with a practiced ease. It's familiar and it's right._

_They converse over their breakfasts - easy chatter that comforts, helps them prepare for the day. Whatever's in store, she is not alone. For not the first time, or the last, she wonders how she will ever repay him for all these years of sharing her burdens and lightening her heart, in all the simple ways he is able._

_It's warm and she is not alone and the steady humming beneath her feet is exactly what it should be..._

It was wet. Cold.

She awoke, her mind disoriented as she emerged into consciousness.

The moss covering her body was the first thing she registered - her hands streamed over it, seeking a comfort that wasn't there.

Water was slowly leaking in, seeping between the leaves and branches above her. Another spit hit her face, and she sat up, wiped it away.

She realized her hair was soaked, and looking back at the ground that had been her bed she wondered how long she'd been sleeping in a puddle. She said a silent prayer to no one in particular that the sun would shine today, that there would be some warmth.

Fully aware of her surroundings now, she was suddenly stricken with an icy panic. Her breath caught in her chest as she reached out and felt around the floor, searching frantically in the dim light.

She'd fallen asleep clutching it, she was sure.

She flipped up the mats of moss, breaking much of it apart in the process, and then her hand finally closed on the soft material. She brought it up to her face, closed her eyes and breathed in a scent that was no longer there (but that she could still somehow conjure), inhaling deeply and willing her racing heart to slow.

She wrapped the scarf around her neck, looping it twice, and crawled out of the shelter.

The rain had stopped, but the tree above her debris hut still dripped from its branches.

It was fully light but cloudy, which made it hard to guess at the time of day. Then she spotted the sun, the faint sphere shining diffusely about 30-degrees above the horizon. The clouds were thin.

She scanned the landscape out of habit. It had been a while since she'd glanced around with a sense of hope - or with the curiosity once second nature to her.

Standing on slightly unsteady legs, she squeezed the water from her hair then brushed a few stray bugs from her body, the latter more from routine than concern. She'd long since grown used to sharing her shelter with insects of all kinds.

She felt better this morning, but as she went about gathering leaves and moss to repair the roof of her shelter, she fought against the impulse to crawl back inside and sleep the day away. There was no real or compelling reason not to, and the chance to return to the morning's pleasant dreamland was certainly an argument in favor.

Shivering as she stuffed the foliage between the hut's branches, clearing the waterlogged clumps away, she decided that she would stay here for one more night and then continue traveling south. Get away from here before winter took hold. She was well enough now and if she didn't push on soon - well, her fate would be a cold and frozen one, and, although she greeted most things these days with a detached, tired apathy, she knew for certain that _that_ was not the way she wanted to die.

Early on, when she'd still had a bountiful reservoir of energy - when her heart was still full of hope, and the formidable, stubborn strength to survive - she'd managed to learn a great deal about the planet she now roamed. She'd built her own sextant, starting with a circle fashioned from a long, thin stick, which she'd marked off in halves until she had a semi-useful scale from which to approximate angular size. It had taken some time to construct the device itself, and while the end product was rather crude and definitely not exact, she'd been proud of it. Almost as proud as the first night she managed to start a fire.

She'd watched the stars in those first weeks, charting them on thin strips of bark that she scratched with a stick, then later marked with ink she'd made from plant material. She'd felt such _hope _looking up at the heavens then, as if _they_ were close, and getting closer_._ Everything she held dear was up there, and she'd regarded and mapped each star, each nebula she could discern by her naked eyes, with a tender affection that ran straight into her soul. She'd loved those sky objects - they were her connection to everything that she was, and, at that time, all she believed she would be again.

From her charting and measurements, she'd discerned some key things about her environment, including the fact that the planet was tilted approximately 24 degrees relative to its parent star, and thus likely had a seasonality similar to Earth's (though she did not know the planet's average solar distance, the eccentricity or speed of its orbit, or the central star's classification, and therefore could not guess at the exact nature or length of the seasons). And she'd figured her initial latitude - approximately 64 degrees. In exploring the immediate vicinity, she'd found her location to be very continental. In the high-mid-latitudes, and without the influence of a nearby ocean, she knew the region would likely see a harsh winter. It was spring-like when she'd..._arrived_...but it wouldn't last forever. She'd decided to travel south, in search of a more equatorial climate. Back then, she hadn't seriously imagined she would see a winter on this world, but her practical nature had her making choices with survival in mind.

In addition to her sky charting, she'd studied the regional biota, cataloging it in the same fashion - on strips of bark. A scientist and an explorer, it came easily, and it helped to pass the time. She'd found no evidence of any breed of humanoid life, on the ground or in the sky, but there was a rich abundance of flora and fauna. It was comforting early on.

She'd spent the summer learning all she could about the planet and carving out her survival with her bare hands while slowly trekking south. Skills she'd learned but seldom used resurfaced and hardened of necessity. She'd taken pride in all she'd done early on, and knew that, when they arrived for her, they'd be impressed with all she'd accomplished from nothing.

Now, with winter descending and seeming impossible to escape fast enough, and with the thrill of prevailing in her rugged existence long gone, a deep despair was threatening. The sheets of bark that she'd once worked on so dutifully were strewn about the camp haphazardly, forgotten. The many tools she'd built lay scattered, lately unused. Alone - so very alone - she struggled in even her best moments to hold on to her sense of self.

She'd fallen ill several weeks ago, and had been certain, in the darkest throes of fever and pain, that death was imminent. The pounds had slipped from her body, immobile and overcome as it was, and an all-consuming, fervid insanity nearly claimed her completely. There was one thing that helped her hold on, that gave her resource to fight, though there were times when her very clinging to the inanimate object made her feel as if she were slipping. But it was all she had, and, to this day, she was certain that without the dark scarf she now wore around her neck, she would have perished, lost to fever and pain with no memory of the person she had been. A year ago, she would not have considered such a thing plausible - that she would garner so much, body and soul, from something so insignificant. A simple, long rectangle of knitted and weathered wool - but it was everything.

_Find some food, Kathryn._

More often than not, the voice in her head was not her own. At times it was her mother, or her sister. Sometimes it was Tuvok. Usually it was Chakotay. "Hearing" her name, the directness with which they "spoke" to her, helped her hold on to what was left of her identity, fragile as it now was. She was not some anonymous, nameless soul, as her isolation threatened, towering over her - she was _someone _and she had had a life.

_Or perhaps she was simply going insane._

The shelter repaired to some degree, she headed for the stream.

Some part of her smiled (somewhere, _probably_ - in the part of her that remembered how) when she imagined him watching her catch a fish with her bare hands. It was a skill that had not come easily - it required patience, a meditation, almost, that she did not naturally possess. After her first, she'd-guessed-flukey success, she was certain she'd never be able to do it again, but something had driven her to try. Hunger, for sure - but it was also the thought that it would impress him.

Early on, she'd fashioned a fishing rod using a stick and some vine, but the fish had not responded to it. She'd tried every kind of bait she could find, to no avail. Frustrated after many attempts one day, she'd collapsed onto the bank by the stream, where she remained for hours, staring out at the water and watching the gentle current, the swirling eddies, and the many fish swimming beneath. Then, on sudden impulse (her hunger perhaps having spent her brain somewhat), something had driven her to lunge forward sharply, and reach into the water. Her motion was primal and lightning-quick, and when she actually came up with a fish, she had laughed and laughed - a sound she hadn't heard or uttered in what seemed like forever.

Leaning down close to the stream now, she scooped water into cupped hands, drank and then splashed some of the cold liquid on her face. She could not bring herself to bathe in its icy depths. Luckily, she was beyond caring about, and hardly even noticed anymore, her filth. She was of the land, this planet.

She sat back on the bank and watched the fish, swimming circles as they searched for their own food. She wasn't sure if it was a mark of insanity, or the opposite, that she enjoyed (or whatever the correct word was that implied not so much _real_ enjoyment, but more a desperate, twisted experiencing of things not completely unpleasant) catching them this way.

It didn't take long - her hand flew into the water with an energy she wasn't sure how she still possessed, and quickly emerged with a catch. She dug her fingers into the fish's body, gripping as it struggled against asphyxiation, and then slammed it against a rock.

The creatures had become such a regular part of her diet, she wasn't sure how she'd cope without them. Another reason to hasten her trek to the south. This steam was shallow enough to freeze through, should the winter prove deep (which it surely would), and trapping land animals had not proven her strong suit.

She gutted the fish with a pointed stick, ripping out its bones and leaving them beside the stream. She did this without thinking - it was routine. Automatic.

Back up at her camp, she built up a fire, welcoming its warmth. She skewered the fish onto a branch and stuck it above the flame.

Watching the flesh heat up, perspiring as it cooked, her thoughts wandered.

It was always a terrifying prospect, leaving camp. And she would depart almost empty-handed. She'd take a couple of her tools, maybe, but that was really all. She had nothing else of worth and she would reconstruct the other things she needed along her route - shelter, coverings, etc. She was alone with the land.

She'd been stranded before on a planet not entirely unlike this one. But it had been with an arsenal of supplies - literally everything needed to live comfortably. The hikes they took then, away from their home base, they'd filled their packs with food and supplies, and it was exciting to venture out, not terrifying.

The hikes _they_ took...

How different everything was now, in solitude.

She'd lost track of the days somewhere after 100. She no longer kept count, nor cared to. One hundred had done something to her. It was a meaningless number, based on this planet's particular rate of rotation (which she knew was slightly faster than Earth's), but, for whatever reason, once she'd spent 100 days alone on the planet, something in her concluded that rescue was no longer likely. That it was, in fact, rather unlikely. Damn near impossible, really.

She didn't blame them.

Thinking back over the events that brought her here, it was quite likely that they'd concluded her dead. She knew they'd made every effort. That they'd searched for and found leads, followed them (recklessly, even), trying every avenue, every possibility. She knew they had not moved on easily. But, the needs of the many...

She _wanted_ them to move on. It was a truth that emanated from her soul even as loneliness and despair threatened to overtake her.

_He would get them home._

Her mind lingered there, and she clutched at the scarf with her free hand. Drawing away from her anguish - the deep, bottomless pool that could so easily pull her under - she pictured him - every turn of his features, his form. Still a crystal-clear image in her mind. Even now, this far away, she drew strength from him, for whatever it was worth anymore.

She wondered, if she known back then that it would someday be all she had - that he would be her lifeline on dark days, which these days were _all_ days - would she have done things differently?

The strips of bark where she had written out her feelings would be left behind tomorrow, to weather and wash away.

But she would carry him with her, and the scarf - a last remaining physical link to her life, to him - until the day that her mind could no longer conjure his image, his voice. Lost to her impending insanity or an aged and weathered mind.

Even if her body lived on after, _that_ would be the day she died.


	2. Chapter 2

Please see chapter 1 for disclaimers and info. Thank you SO MUCH for all the messages and feedback! Really helps to keep me going. :) The timeline will start to jump around after this point, and I will come back later to label this chapter temporally. I can tell you that it takes place somewhat before chapter 1, but I need to go a bit further before I place it with finality. (The scientist in me has a need to do this, though it's not really relevant to the story at this point!) I hope this reads okay. I know it's a bit on the short side - I ended up splitting the chapter when I realized this part felt better, somehow, on its own.

* * *

**Two**

_Voyager_

Chakotay felt the collective gaze of those gathered around him even as he avoided it, staring instead at a meaningless point on the table.

They waited, patiently - weighed down in their own way by the sorrow that hung over the room, that had permeated the last many weeks. It was heavy and thick, pushing them low into their chairs, dragging on their shoulders, as if the ship's gravity was turned up a notch. But no one felt it as profoundly as Chakotay, who stood, but barely.

They'd wait all day if needed, frozen in place, holding the inevitable at bay - for him, and because none of them were eager for the duty coming next.

The decision was ultimately his, and they knew how impossibly his heart broke having to make it. He hadn't slept in days; hadn't slept _well_ in months.

Not yet spoken, the truth was encroaching. Taking hold. Like a vise grip closing around the throat. He didn't _need_ to say what they already knew, but he was obligated.

He stood motionless, staring now at a patch of nothingness in the rear of the room and gripping the back of his chair. Leaning into it. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing into a heap, exhaustion and despair having finally spent him. He'd visibly aged in the past months, the burdens he carried evident on his frame and in his posture.

Years of training, in and out of Starfleet, were failing him. Despite their silent support, he'd never felt so alone in a room full of his closest colleagues - his friends.

The moment he'd been dreading had come. He could no longer put it off, and as he stared at the wall the only thing he could think of was how Kathryn would know exactly what to say right now. And how damn _wrong_ everything was without her.

He pictured her circling the table, stopping at every chair, offering to each member of the senior staff, by mere proximity, her support and reassurance. And after that she'd return to his side, where her strength would mix with his, bolstering them both and making the very act of _continuing_ possible. She'd put her hand on his arm, and they'd share unspoken thoughts - that they were there for each other, that _together they could do this_. Those stolen moments, while brief, had always meant so much.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally spoke. _(Minutes, hours, days?) _

"It's time we resumed our course."

There was silent acknowledgement around the room - he felt their shifting gazes as they looked at each other, and then back at him. He still couldn't look at their faces - he knew they offered sympathy, tinged with pity, and while they meant well, he wanted none of it right now. And he had nothing to offer them in return. Kathryn would have - she'd always given every last ounce of herself to them - but he'd never be for them what she had been.

He was tired - tired of always being watched and observed. Tired of having his health and mental well-being the subject of conversation ship-wide. And he was tired of people telling him it would "get better with time". It was such an empty, meaningless platitude, and it brought just about as much comfort as a phaser blast to the stomach. If anything, it made him feel worse. He was dying inside, and frankly, he had no wish to stop it. Didn't give a damn what time did with itself - it would never make him whole again, not with a loss like this towering over him. Of that he was certain.

_He was tired. _His mind drifted off, numbing his sense of body. _(He'd done it, made the decision, sealed their fate, *her* fate - maybe his obligation to them was over now. Maybe he could disappear now.)_

Tom Paris stood then, and put a firm, steady hand on Chakotay's shoulder. The contact drew his attention back - he refocused on his surroundings and managed a small nod at the younger man. Tom was one of the few who hadn't suggested "time" as the antidote for his ails, and honestly, he understood better than most what Chakotay was going through. His support had been steadfast through everything, and Chakotay had to admit, as Tom offered that support again now, it was not unwelcome.

It was Tuvok who spoke next, on the other topic they had to discuss.

"We must hold a memorial service."

Chakotay swallowed hard. He looked back at Tom automatically, unchecked anguish flashing in his eyes.

Tom nodded in understanding. "I'll take care of it," he said in a low voice.

Chakotay offered silent thanks in his gaze, a sudden flush of gratitude coursing through him, affording him a much-needed deep breath, and then he turned to acknowledge Tuvok, meeting the Vulcan's dark eyes for the first time since they'd gathered for the briefing. "Yes. We will of course have a..._memorial_," he managed - but the last word felt like a bitter poison on his lips.

Tuvok nodded, his expression neutral, as always, but Chakotay perceived in his gaze a hint of profound sadness. It was not more than an echo, but Chakotay guessed that beneath the Vulcan's carefully-disciplined exterior there ran a turbulent sea. He knew Tuvok and Kathryn had had a long history, and a deep, abiding friendship - one he'd envied at times, early on. He knew they would never truly relate in their experiencing of this loss, but Chakotay felt a moment of kinship as he felt Tuvok's grief.

For Chakotay, of course, it was more than the loss of his commanding officer, his friend - it was the loss of a future he hadn't fully realized he'd been planning on. Images of that future played in his mind without permission, at moments odd and not - a cruel refrain, now devoid of hopefulness and warmth. Such would be the way of things now.

He was tired, and he was ready for this meeting to be over. All that remained were the formal orders.

"Tuvok, take the bridge. Resume our course to the Alpha Quadrant."

He could hear Kathryn's voice in his head, giving those same orders on countless occasions - to set a course for home. Always she said it without despair, as if "home" really was simply a destination they would reach. He knew her better than that, of course, and he had weathered with her through some very dark moments, when her equanimity had wavered and hopelessness threatened to win out. _What a burden she had carried all those years. That_ thought threatened to squeeze the remaining, pulsing life from his heart. He could have done more - he _should_ have done more for her. And now...

He dismissed the senior staff, and then watched numbly as they slowly exited for the bridge. Except for Tom, who for his part hadn't moved from Chakotay's side and was regarding him, evaluating, and seeking words of comfort.

"We did everything we could," he offered. "She wouldn't want us to stay beyond all hope - hell, she probably wouldn't have even wanted us searching like we did in the first place. Everything we do now, we do _for_ her, to honor her. She's in everything now. She'd want us to continue home."

He searched Chakotay, attempting to discern whether his words had any impact. He knew better than to think they'd actually _help_ at this point, but in time, he hoped they would.

"Thank you, Tom," Chakotay said finally. The simple acknowledgement was more than Tom had hoped for. They shared a moment of silence, then he moved to exit to the bridge, where he'd take the helm and physically steer the ship away. He stopped short when Chakotay spoke again.

"Tom...thank you for your friendship. It's meant a lot to me."

The younger man nodded and then left to his duties, leaving Chakotay alone in the briefing room. Soon, _Voyager's _engines would pulse with life, and, then, in the blink of an eye, they'd be off. Gone from this part of space forever.

Chakotay exited to the corridor and retreated for the solitude of his quarters. _He couldn't be on the bridge when..._

He arrived at his door just as the ship jumped to warp.

_It was over - they were on their way. _Heading: Alpha Quadrant.

From inside his quarters, Chakotay watched the stars stream by. He knew Tom was right, but that didn't ease the hollowness in his chest, or the sick feeling in his stomach. All of their searching... Ten months of chasing down leads had brought nothing but dead-ends and disappointment.

Every logical, reasonable conclusion said she was lost to them, but the evidence had not been conclusive, and there had been no body. _Not knowing for_ _certain_ would probably consume him more than anything. He imagined he would carry forever, the unrelenting, heartbreaking feeling that they'd abandoned her. That he'd failed her yet again.

He knew he was too close to it, that he had long since ceased to think objectively on the matter of Kathryn's disappearance. That his ability to command was compromised by the burdens of his heart, and that he could no longer see straight when it came to _Voyager_ - or anything really.

It was so clear now. His feelings, honed and sharpened by hindsight and tragedy, were undeniable and unmistakable.

And now, he would never get to tell her how much she meant to him.

_How much she'd meant to him. _

He doubted he'd ever get the tenses right.

He'd told her, in so many ways, but not the one way he still needed to, longed to. Now he needed to pull himself together and...do what?

Take up where she left off. Lead them home. _Honor her_ by doing so.

He was no longer certain that he could - in fact, he rather doubted he'd be of use to this crew at all anymore. Their tireless search had brought him purpose, driving him forward as they sought after one clear goal. He felt none of that purpose as _Voyager_ resumed its pursuit of home. He felt no drive, no desire to even get there.

He sighed, but it was empty, without a release of tension. He knew he needed time, needed to mourn properly. _But how do you mourn when doubt lingers? _

He imagined that this was how their loved ones back in the Alpha Quadrant must have felt before they'd learned _Voyager_ and its crew had not perished all those years ago. You get to a point where you just have to start living again - or you don't.

He stripped off his uniform, tossed it carelessly onto the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. He was surprised when drowsiness began to overtake him, and he quickly drifted off, sleep mimicking, mocking the emptiness that filled him...


	3. Chapter 3

Please see chapter 1 for disclaimers and info. Thank you so much for the comments and feedback - it means a lot to me!

* * *

**Three**

Chakotay woke with a start, pulse pounding in his head, breathing labored. He tensed reflexively against the icy adrenaline pumping through his veins, and for a moment he was girding for a fight. Then lucidity claimed him and the dream scene fell away, leaving him awash in a foggy uneasiness, his chest heavy as his body sought recovery.

The sheets were twisted around him, wet with perspiration - familiar. _This_ was how he woke up more often than not anymore. Sleep had become an extension of his waking unease, rarely offering a physical and mental reprieve. He knew the doctor could give him something for it, but he wasn't ready for that. _Medicating_...it felt too much like erasure - like letting go. He _needed_ the nightmares. More, he thought - _he deserved them._

He called for lights - low. And_ the time._

He'd slept for less than two hours, and he was relieved - though he wasn't sure why it mattered (asleep, awake - every minute that passed drew them away at high warp). Palms on his chest, he closed his eyes and focused on the rise and fall of his breath.

Bits and pieces of the dream came back to him as he willed some calm into his body - and of course it had been about Kathryn.

_Kathryn. _She who continued to fill his world, even in her absence.

Somehow, it just wasn't possible that she was gone - that _they were going_.

_Reality was even worse than the nightmares._

He sat up, turned his gaze to the windows, where the stars streamed by, beyond his power - visual evidence of the _reality_ in which he did not know how to position himself. _Voyager _moved them on and away, and the sensation felt foreign, like he didn't belong.

_I'm so sorry, Kathryn_.

He felt her loss like a lead weight in his gut - and then, in the next breath, reality mixed with disbelief and denial and he just couldn't fathom that she was really _gone_.

He forced himself to get up, cursing his tired legs and exhausted body, weakened by months of neglect.

Beneath his feet, _Voyager's_ engines pulsed with life.

_Voyager_.

It was his ship now. Except, it never could be - not really.

In the 'fresher, he splashed cold water on his face and stared long at the mirror. As he took in his harrowed features - lines and curves he barely recognized...eyes an empty, ghostly echo of the man he used to be - he knew for certain he was not the one to lead _Voyager_ now. That he just wasn't a part of it anymore. That he _couldn't_ be a part of it - not now. Not in the capacity required, not in a way that would do them justice, that would..._honor her._

He splashed more water on his face, welcoming the cold liquid as it sobered him further. He took a deep breath in, closed his eyes on the exhale. And again...

_Just. Breathe._

Palms open at his sides, long breaths in and out, he willed equanimity into his body.

Moments later, he made a decision.

It had been there, in the recesses of his mind, since the moment he realized _Voyager_ would have to move on. As he breathed life into the choice he hadn't allowed himself to consider fully until now, he knew, with everything he was, that it was the _only_ path he could rightly travel.

He called Tom Paris to his quarters, then sat by the windows in the living room and waited. For the first time in many months, a profound calm filled him.

It didn't take long for Tom to arrive - Chakotay granted access at the chime, and the doors opened obediently, revealing his friend and colleague, standing in the entryway.

"Tom, please come in."

"Com...uh, Captain." He stepped into the room and took quick note of Chakotay's calmed demeanor. He looked..._different._ "Did you get some rest?"

"More or less."

Tom considered that for a moment, then nodded. He moved to stand near the dining table, posture not at attention but close.

Chakotay cut to the chase - he didn't want to draw this out. "I'm leaving Tuvok in command, and you're to serve as his second."

Tom's mouth fell open and his brain fumbled for words. Chakotay held up his hand, halting the younger man's impending protests.

"He will need you, Tom. He can lead the ship, but you will have to guide the crew - the people. You will have to carry them through when _logic_ cannot. They respect him; they will obey him. But they will need _you_."

"Commander - _Captain_...I'm...you're..." Speech had simply failed him.

"I'm going back," he confirmed. "I can't ask this crew to risk anything more, or to delay any longer. But I can't live with myself if I don't keep trying. I'm as good as worthless to you all like this, and the more distance we put between - "

_Between_ _us and the Captain.._. He couldn't say it, fearing that somehow, voicing the words, his hopes, would mean their undoing.

He didn't have to say it. Tom Paris knew him well by now. Their friendship had assumed a new depth months ago, when Tom had been the first to ask about his feelings for Kathryn. He'd already known then, the answer to his simple question, but he had recognized what it would mean for Chakotay to say it out loud.

Standing before his friend now, Tom straightened, his objections and protests - all the reasons Chakotay should not do this - now gathered and ready.

Then he met Chakotay's eyes, and in an instant, it all fell away. He understood - _of course he understood._ Painfully, he understood. He realized it was why he was standing here instead of anyone else.

Filled with equal parts dread and sad acceptance, he looked down at the table. "We're...really going to miss you."

* * *

As soon as Tom left, with a promise to keep things quiet, Chakotay started packing. It was quite likely he'd never see the ship again, but he didn't dwell on that thought. He'd have to deal with that pain at some point, but _not now_.

The fact of the matter was, _Voyager_ didn't feel like _home _anymore. Home, in fact, was no longer a _place_ at all. Leaving would be hard, but staying would be harder.

And they didn't _really_ need him. Not like they had needed her, anyway.

Focused and full of purpose once again, the gathering and packing of his belongings was not hard. He didn't mull over his treasured possessions; instead he crated them efficiently, quickly. Tom had suggested they double-back, bring Chakotay directly to Koldera space, but he'd said no - he couldn't ask that of the crew. Then he'd suggested they drop out of warp immediately, to at least shorten his journey back, but Chakotay didn't want a big, public display of his departure. They'd stop this evening as scheduled - a brief break for the engines and some routine maintenance - and at that point, he'd take his leave. The journey in a shuttlecraft would take longer, but it would give him time to review data surrounding the Koldera mission, and to map out his course of action.

He planned to get everything ready on the shuttle well before evening, and he hoped his departure later would be quiet and unceremonious.

Soon, the bulk of his worldly possessions were stowed in his luggage. His next task would not be so easy, but it was just as important.

He hesitated briefly before exiting his quarters, worried for a moment about the secret he carried - that he'd run into a member of the crew and then suddenly, news of his impending departure would spread across the ship. But as filled to the brim as he was with anticipation of his journey and its purpose, he imagined he did not wear his feelings on his sleeve. At least not _that_ much.

He exited into the corridor and briskly took the few steps required to reach the Captain's quarters. He glanced up and down the hallway, keyed in the access code, and quickly slipped inside.

Empty for over ten months now, the room smelled like the ship's recycled air and nothing else.

He ordered the lights on low and took a deep breath. He hadn't come here in almost a month - as if he'd been unable to "face her" as he wrestled with the decision for _Voyager_ to move on. Before that, he'd come often.

At first, when he had been certain they'd find her quickly, he'd come to water her plants, and to make sure everything was in order for her return.

When their search became difficult, with one frustrating dead-end after another, he'd come seeking her strength. He'd sit by the windows and imagine her next to him, bolstering him with advice and her unyielding support.

As the days had turned into months and hope darkened more completely, he'd come with a heart full of grief. It was then, as he immersed himself in what had been her space, that he confronted the truth of his feelings, in their raw and unfiltered form - the mask of duty gone, his defenses depleted.

He'd slept in her room, wrapping himself in her blankets, but there was no comfort in it - it was of a twisted form of self-punishment. Lying in her bed, all he could think was that, by all reasonable estimates, it was no longer hers and would never be again. The blankets and sheets that had surrounded her, warmed, and comforted her as she'd released the burdens of her days into the brief, quiet repose of night, served only to remind him of all that would never be (and everything he had left unsaid). He'd picture her, swathed in the bedding as he was, the cool sheets contrasting against her warm skin, her body small and vulnerable and real. The captain replaced by the woman in a manner he had seen precious few times. And now gone; all gone - _so utterly absent from his world._

And so went his nights in those dark weeks - he in her quarters, in her bed, torturing himself with his thoughts, existing within his anger and despair. Broken bits of nightmare-laden sleep mixing with hot, wakeful tears and rage.

Today, he came to pack her things - clothes, keepsakes, treasured books. Objects he hadn't been able to bring himself to disturb before he would gently gather and carry with him on his journey to find their owner. A fool's errand, perhaps, but it didn't matter - he had to go.

He stood in the living space and thought about the many occasions they'd spent here, between these walls. It had been a retreat, of sorts - a place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Where they could talk ship's business, speak freely and candidly about the crew. And where they could enjoy the warmth of each other's company, away from the prying eyes of their subordinates - not on duty, not on display, not having to _be_ anything in particular. Wine and food and laughter; their deepening friendship and everything beneath it. Shared, knowing glances. Stolen moments, touches that lurked ever-so-close to the invisible line. While maddening at times, for all their connection begged to be, their closeness brought comfort and reassurance in times dark and light. He hadn't fully appreciated - _before_ - how much better they were as a team. What an unlikely outcome, considering how it all began - and now...

He forced his attention back to the matter at hand, decided he'd start with her clothing. He found her luggage, then went to work sorting and packing her garments. He grabbed a uniform, thinking she might want it, and the rest, he packed off-duty clothes - her favorites that he'd seen often, and some items from the bottom of her drawers that had been long tucked away, unworn since New Earth. He gathered undergarments, her robe, shoes. Clips for her hair, toiletries he imagined she'd enjoy having again. The quilt her mother had made.

He'd no idea what she'd been through over the past months (or if she was even alive - but that thought he buried, his hope of her rescue dominating, propelling him forward, instead); he hoped these familiar items would bring comfort.

He finished his work in the bedroom, grabbed another case, and went to gathering her books and other treasured items. He couldn't take everything, but given that they would likely never be back here, he needed to pack what he could.

He came across many of the gifts he'd given her over the years - birthday presents, objects marking important occasions and anniversaries. Lots of his small creations from New Earth, some of them silly looking to him now, oozing as they did with the naiveté of his younger self_ (it hadn't been that long ago, had it?)_. Everything was gathered in a beautiful wooden box - a careful collection marking their time together. He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he looked at it all, the objects beautiful and those ridiculous. _Gods, he had loved her for so long._

Scanning the shelves, he packed other mementoes he knew had meaning for her. And then photos - family photos from Earth, and family photos from _Voyager_. He packed them all.

His last task - books. Which he knew he'd have to limit. Searching her collection, he grabbed works by Dante, Goethe, Kant, Eliot, Proust...other classics, and anything that looked particularly old and priceless. By the time he finished, he'd probably gathered another passenger's weight in text, but he knew she'd appreciate it (and thankfully, he could beam the luggage directly to the shuttle). Their suitcases along with the survival gear and rations would make it a bit on the cramped side, but they could always unload things later.

He gathered the cases in one place and took a last look around, checking drawers and shelves to make sure he hadn't left anything important. At last satisfied with the job he'd done, he headed back to his own quarters, where he would wait for evening. He knew his colleagues were allowing him the day, that he would not be expected on the bridge. It pained him more than he allowed himself to admit, the way in which he would leave. But it would be best to part ways without a fuss. _They would understand_. _Eventually..._

He settled in for a meal, eating more heartily than he had in months, the roast he'd replicated warm and welcome to his body.

He was ready.

* * *

When it was time, Chakotay was relieved to find the shuttle bay empty. Everything loaded, course plotted, _Voyager _at all-stop - all that remained was his physical departure.

As he neared the hatch, preparing to board after his pre-flight inspection, the interior shuttlebay doors opened suddenly. He jumped at the sound, but at the same time, some part of him had half-expected the intrusion (if Tom hadn't told them, they'd probably noticed the unusual transporter activity, despite his efforts to mask it - this last, he thought not without pride; they were a skilled crew.). He turned to see Tom, B'Elanna, Harry, and Tuvok, entering with purpose.

_They're going to make this hard, _he thought.

But as much as he was wary of confronting them like this, he had to admit, he was glad to see them once more.

B'Elanna tore into him almost instantly, marching toward him with fury. "_You_ were going to _leave_ without even saying goodbye?! _You _are an insufferable petaQ, is what you are! After all we've been through!"

"B'Elanna, I..." He didn't have the right words.

She huffed loudly then closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Damn it all, Chakotay," she said, her face near his neck. "Damn you!" She squeezed and he thought he might pop. A few more "damn you's" and then her voice softened. "You find her, okay? Find her, and then get the hell back to us. Do you hear me, Chakotay?"

She released him and met his eyes - they were teary but firm. She meant what she'd said, and he suddenly felt _horrible_ that he'd been about to leave without saying goodbye._ He was an awful, insufferable petaQ, indeed._

Tom and Harry said their goodbyes next. Less dramatic than B'Elanna's, and with less cursing in Klingon, but the sadness in their eyes was no less profound.

"I knew you'd regret it if you didn't say goodbye," Tom said. "And I'd regret it if I didn't force you to."

Chakotay shook his head. "You've become a wise man in your years here, Tom Paris. You take care of yourself - and take care of her, too." He looked back at B'Elanna.

Tuvok came forward next, and Chakotay braced himself.

"Your decision to continue searching for Captain Janeway is not logical. And I cannot condone your theft of a shuttlecraft or your abandonment of this crew." Chakotay winced - the man knew how to deliver a punch. "However, while your actions are irrational, ill-advised, and motivated by your personal feelings, I find I cannot stop you. More to the point, I find I do not _want_ to stop you. Instead, I wish you a safe journey, and success on your mission."

He handed Chakotay a PADD. "_Voyager _will be stopping at an M-class planet in the Belkar system. Mr. Nellix has informed us we will find supplies and respite for the crew on the fourth planet. Our route and timetable are outlined. If you should complete your mission in time, please rendezvous with us."

Tuvok closed with the familiar Vulcan farewell, and Chakotay stared at the PADD, stunned. Belkar meant veering off their route. It wasn't entirely unusual for such an action when a friendly, bountiful planet presented itself, but he knew this wasn't a vital detour.

At that moment, Seven and the Doctor entered the shuttlebay. They drew near the gathering, and he looked over at them to find Seven regarding him, in that way of hers. He hadn't the slightest guess what she was thinking. The doctor spoke immediately.

"I'm glad we arrived in time to see you off." He was carrying a medical case, which he promptly handed to Chakotay. "I've taken the liberty of gathering some extra medical supplies, beyond what is in the standard shuttle kit. In case you need it."

Chakotay accepted the case and nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Seven found her voice suddenly and stepped forward. "I wish you a successful journey." She tilted her head and paused, lost for a moment in her own head. "I hope you and the Captain will be able to return to us."

He nodded in acknowledgement and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. He looked at them - they who were his closest friends, who had weathered so much alongside him - and felt overwhelmed.

"Thank you. All of you," he said finally.

With that, he entered the shuttle, closed its door, and initiated the pre-launch sequence. He was heading for Koldrea space, and the last person he knew to have seen Kathryn alive. From there, he would travel on a hope and a prayer, with the blessings of his Voyager family and a heart full of love propelling him forward.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is a bit on the fluffy side, so please bear with me if that isn't your thing (and rest assured, darker times are ahead!). Special guest: the timepiece from YOH. I was always disappointed that we didn't see it again after the reset. Small bit of dialog lifted from YOH, no copyright infringement intended. Hope it works for you. My apologies for taking so long to edit through this and post. It was somewhat challenging, going back and forth between this and later chapters. I did have a good time with this chapter, when I was in the right frame of mind to write and edit!

Feedback always welcome and appreciated! Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

**Four**

_One year earlier_

The NaPali Coast was everything Tom Paris remembered. He'd seen it by boat, by air, and on an exceptionally memorable hike along the Kalalau Trail. Truly one of the most beautiful places on the plant Earth, the island of Kauai had remained for centuries underdeveloped and near-perfect. The rugged NaPali range boasted every shade of green in its lush expanse of vegetation, splayed across towering earth and rock of deep reds and browns. The turquoise-blue Pacific Ocean was a smooth blanket running up to NaPali's base, where the water broke white as it pushed onto the sand beaches and crashed against rock.

The island where Tom Paris stood offered a sweeping panorama of the entire northwestern coast of Kauai - NaPali in all its glory.

_Not bad. Not bad at all._

"Computer, increase breeze to eight knots."

A gentle breeze drew over the island and Tom smiled. _It was almost perfect._

It was a made-up island, one he'd invented after concluding they should view NaPali from solid ground. Initially, he'd planned to re-create a cruise along the coast, but then he thought, they did enough _sailing _(of a kind, anyway)_._ _Let them be land-bound for this celebration._ There being no real island right off of Kauai's northwestern coast, he'd simply had the computer create one, and then added in elements from other Hawaiian holodeck programs. An intimate resort, with a beach-side bar. Lounge chairs - lots of them - and towering palm trees, bent in favor of the tradewinds. Sun - plenty of sun - and gentle waves. Hawaiian birds, their sound mixing with the pulsing melody of the ocean. It was quite spectacular, and he was rather pleased with himself for the finer details he'd attended to.

"Computer, add Hawaiian band, circa 1950s Earth. Hapa-haole style."

Five musicians appeared on the deck by the bar, steel guitars, ukeleles, and other genre instruments at the ready. Soft and slow at first, the music radiated beach-side relaxation...

"Chakotay to Pais," the comm line cut in abruptly.

"Computer, freeze music," he called, then tapped his combadge. "Go ahead, Commander."

"How's it coming down there?"

"Almost finished. And the food is on the way. We're on schedule to start at 1900 hours." He paused, then, thinking on the party's purpose, inquired, "does she suspect anything?"

"Not a thing. See you around 1900. Chakotay out."

_It was going to be a great night._

Tom added in the bartenders, waiters, and hosts, and started the band back up. He double-checked the time cycle he'd programmed - three hours of warm, tropical daylight followed by the perfect Pacific Ocean sunset. Then, tiki torches and hanging lanterns to light their evening revelry, which he hoped would continue well into the night.

* * *

The party was in full swing at 1900, as promised. All that was missing was the guest of honor.

Kathryn Janeway had just collapsed into her recliner, settling back with an exhausted sigh - the day's events having left her spent - when the chime sounded at her door. She winced at the intrusion, and then (reluctantly) called for the doors to open.

It was Chakotay who entered. She must have shot him a concerned look as she sat up, fearing, as she did, that their day was not, in fact, over, because he put one hand up, halting her questions, and spoke quickly - "Not here on ship's business."

She relaxed the part of herself that had been instinctively preparing, but then, taking in his demeanor, a different kind of tension came to her awareness. It was not _entirely_ unwelcome. He was smiling at her in what she decided was a rather boyish way - like he had a secret he could no longer contain. She raised an eyebrow in his direction, silently calling for him to spill it.

"Did you think I forgot?" He took a couple of strides in her direction, and presented her with a small box he'd evidently had behind his back. It was wrapped in silver with a silky blue bow on top. "Happy Birthday, Kathryn."

She smiled up at him before taking the box in her hands and regarding it. She _had_ actually imagined he'd forgotten, so well had he managed to keep his secret all day. Right up until he walked in her quarters with that silly grin of his, anyway.

"Chakotay...thank you." She fingered the small package, suddenly nervous about opening it. Unwilling to explore that feeling to its origins, she opted instead for conversation. "It's kind of you to remember. It was a long day - _I_ almost forgot about my birthday."

He crossed to the couch and sat down on the side closest to her chair. Still grinning.

She turned to him and steered the conversation away from birthdays and gifts. "Everything wrap up okay on the bridge?"

He nodded, but didn't bite. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

She shot him a lopsided smile. "If you insist."

He just looked at her, the answer obvious.

Her smile reached her eyes (his mood was infectious), to which his grin expanded even more (if that was even possible). She obliged him and tore at the wrapping paper - but gently, as if she was planning to reuse it.

Inside the box was a silver timepiece on a long chain - smooth and ancient. And mechanical. It ticked in her hands.

"Chakotay, it's beautiful," she said, tracing a finger along the cool metal resting in her palm.

"It's a replica of the chronometer worn by Captain Cray of the British Navy, from Earth's Nineteenth century. His ship was hit by a typhoon in the Pacific. Everyone back in England thought they were killed, but eight months later Cray sailed his ship into London harbor. There wasn't much left of it - a few planks, half a sail - but he got his crew home."

Her eyes welled as she took in the full meaning of the gift, and she shook her head. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Touched, she moved to sit beside him on the couch. "How is it that you always know exactly how to lift my spirits?"

He reddened ever-so-slightly and then shrugged. "It's just one of my many talents," he deadpanned.

She leaned over and hugged him - it was a friendly gesture, he recognized, but he couldn't completely subdue his body's awareness at her sudden nearness. Luckily _(or the opposite)_, she didn't linger. She released him and sat back on the couch, then opened her palm and stared down at the timepiece again. The ticking it made was oddly soothing.

They sat in silence for a moment, then she looked back at him. "I'd planned to spend a quiet evening by myself, reading or otherwise doing not-much, but would you like to join me for dinner?"

He realized suddenly that they couldn't linger, be that as it might have been his inclination at the moment. "Actually, I have something else in mind." He watched her face as she reacted to this, one eyebrow rising in question. He smiled mischievously and rose from the couch, headed for the door. Turning back suddenly, he added, "dress for summer. I'll be back in about 10 minutes."

"And where might we be going?"

"You'll see." He shot her a playful smile, and she felt a warm giddiness wash over her. It was not a feeling she typically allowed herself to indulge, but for whatever reason, she didn't push it away.

He exited her quarters, leaving her alone with his gift and her thoughts, and the task of attiring herself for..._summer_. That her stomach tightened as she imagined what, exactly, he might be planning, was not lost on her - and it only got worse as her mind went to work on the possibilities.

Moments later, she exhaled sharply and rose from the couch, shaking herself free from her thoughts. It reminded her of the very reasons she did not - could not - indulge in such things, real or otherwise, on _Voyager._

_Dress for summer..._

She placed the timepiece on her desk and went in search of an appropriate outfit.

She realized Chakotay hadn't provided her with nearly enough information to make a proper choice, and she immediately called him over the comm.

"_Commander_," she said, mocking emphasis on his rank, "when you say 'dress for summer', what are we talking, activity-wise?"

The line was silent for a moment, and then he shocked her by outright suggesting something specific. "I remember a dress. Strapless, floral pattern. Something like that would work."

She knew the one, and allowed herself to consider _very briefly_ what it meant that _he_ remembered it. Then she dug out the dress and obliged his suggestion.

Thankfully, it still fit, but, glancing in the mirror, she felt slightly ridiculous at the skimpy cut and the tropical pattern on the fabric. She stared at her reflection, brow knit, weighing other options against the small thrill of attiring herself as her (rather handsome and thoughtful) First Officer had suggested - but then she suddenly came up with an idea. She dashed over to her closet and rummaged for the lovely crochet wrap her sister had given her years ago - it was light and lacy, the color of sand, and would add a bit of elegance to the otherwise silly dress. Along with the warp, she found her favorite summer hat and some sandals, and happily added them to the ensemble. She took in her appearance once more, much improved, and decided it would do.

She was brushing her hair when Chakotay rang the door chime. She called for entry from the bedroom.

"Give me just a second," she projected as she heard the door open.

Moments later, she emerged from the bedroom to find him standing in the middle of the living room, arms behind his back, waiting patiently. He was wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt and shorts, and, well, he looked rather adorable, she could not help but admit to herself.

"So I take it we're going skiing," she said, smiling.

"Precisely," he said, then offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She linked her arm around his, and they were off.

* * *

Although she'd never admit it, Kathryn was flush with nervous energy. It had started as a low _hum_, quietly invading her system when Chakotay showed up with her birthday present, and it now peaked acutely as they stood outside of holodeck 2.

She was captain of a starship - she'd faced the Borg and worse, and _nervous_ was not typically part of her constitution, inside or out. But she felt a lot of _anomalous_ things where Chakotay was concerned - including more than a few weighty, unsettled feelings she'd forced buried in their years together - and whatever was behind the holodeck doors had something to do with her, with him, and...with _summer_...and it had her keyed up in a way that was, she decided, rather intolerable._  
_

_No - that was the wrong word._ The feelings themselves weren't exactly _intolerable..._

The circumstances surrounding them, on the other hand...

She glanced at Chakotay, who was regarding her - perhaps preparing to measure her reaction to..._whatever _they were about to encounter. He laughed lightly as he met her eyes, which were lit with hesitation, and put a reassuring hand on her back. "Ready?"

She wasn't, but she nodded.

He keyed open the doors, and a rush of warm air greeted them. Lush vegetation filled the view from the hallway, obsecuring anything beyond, but Kathryn could hear voices - sounded like quite a few people, in fact.

"Come on," Chakotay said, and he eagerly guided her inside.

She followed him down a short, sandy path, tall palms and thick, ambrosial vegetation surrounding them, and it wasn't long before Kathryn could hear ocean waves, pulsing melodically against an unseen shoreline. She was suddenly aware of sunlight, streaming down through the trees and lighting patches of the sparkling sand that lined the trail. She took in a deep breath - gorgeous, refreshing, tropical air - and felt her tension easing on the exhale. Wherever they were, it was lovely - and, judging by the voices, which were growing louder as they walked, they'd not be spending the evening alone. Relief mixed with a _tinge_ of disappointment, but mostly she was just captivated by the surroundings, which beckoned her to temporarily forget they were aboard a starship, stranded in the Delta Quadrant...

"Is this someplace on Earth?" She stopped walking for a moment, took in another breath of fresh air.

Chakotay turned to look at her - smiled as he caught site of her obviously-much-more-relaxed demeanor - and nodded. "It's one of the Hawaiian islands. Well - actually, _this_ island Tom created, but the vista of the evening - which you'll see shortly - is Kauai, the oldest of the main islands."

"Have you been?"

"No, actually. You?"

She nodded and they started walking again. "I have, yes. But it's been a long time."

He drew an arm around her and smiled. "I hope you aren't _too_ mad at me for this..."

She laughed. By now she knew it had to be a birthday celebration they were heading for - _her_ birthday celebration no less - and while she wouldn't normally abide such a fuss surrounding the day, the warm, lush environment was just so _inviting_...

"I will _probably_ forgive you," she joked easily. "But you'd better watch out, when your birthday rolls around."

He laughed and dropped his arm - she instantly missed the contact, but knew they must be getting close.

Soon the trail opened up and Chakotay was leading her up a set of wooden stairs, which ended at a large deck at what looked like a beach-side resort...

The deck was a lively mess of crewmembers (all happily out of uniform, from what she could see), interspersed with holographic musicians and waiters. Food and drink were most definitely flowing, and as soon as she entered the scene, glasses went up, and a hearty chorus of _Surprise! _and _Happy Birthday!_ rang out.

She smiled warmly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed at the scope of the party. They'd celebrated her birthday before, but never quite on this scale, or with this many people. She looked back at Chakotay, hoping she could avoid a speech...

Luckily, the band chose that moment to take up a lively, Pacific-island tune, and the next thing she knew, they were immersed in the party, greeting attendees and admiring the decor - and the view. Neellix met her with a hug and a tall pink beverage, fruit and umbrella on top, which he nearly spilled all over Chakotay in his enthusiasm.

Tom and B'Elanna followed closely behind, he clearly already a couple of drinks in.

"You've outdone yourself this time, Tom," Kathryn said, correctly guessing that he'd had a big hand in designing the program.

He beamed. "I had a lot of help. You seemed to like our last 'Hawaiian experience' so much, I thought we'd do something similar, only this time, on a grander scale, for a grand occasion." He gestured to the long stretch of white sandy beach, and the NaPali Coast in the distance.

"It's truly beautiful. Thank you." She shook her head, feeling her words inadequate.

'Now, Captain, we want you to relax and have fun, so please - grab some food and enjoy!" Tom gestured to the bar.

She realized he was essentially waving off the rest of what had become a receiving line. She was silently grateful, welcoming the opportunity to interact with them in a more casual fashion, instead of going down the line like she was at a wedding.

(Tom had, in fact, instructed everyone "not to smother her.")

She made her way to the food, Chakotay in tow, and promptly filled a plate with the offerings. Balancing it on one hand, she tipped back the rest of her drink with the other. At which point a man she didn't recognize approached with a tray of colorful concoctions and offered her another. Dark-haired, dark-skinned, and quite attractive, the holographic waiter smiled rather suggestively as she selected a beverage - she felt Chakotay's amused stare as she _giggled_ (for that first drink had already relaxed her enough for such behavior) and thanked him. The man, whom she realized suddenly was rather scantily-clad, bowed ever-so-slightly and said, _"At your service." _

She turned to look at Chakotay, and then lost it at his expression - curious and amused (yet ever-so-slightly territorial, if she wasn't mistaken).

"The beach," she said, pointing and still laughing. "I'm going to sit by the water." She was giving him an "out", in case he wanted to mingle instead of lingering by her side, but he just smiled and trailed her as she headed for the water, answering her unspoken question.

From the resort deck, the vista was interrupted by vegetation, but on the beach, the NaPali Coast filled the landscape completely.

Kathryn sat down on the sand, put her food aside and leaned back on her elbows. The glorious Pacific and the old, towering volcanic island of Kauai were a breathtaking sight.

It wasn't long before the party's center of mass shifted, as other crewmembers filtered down to the beach. Soon, Kathryn was surrounded by some of her closest colleagues, who happily sprawled out on the sand near her, gathering together in what looked rather like a picnic.

The mood was light and relaxed - how could it not be in such a place, the hapa-haole music mixing with the sound of the waves and the scattered laughter and merriment of partygoers.

The holographic waiters refreshed their food and drinks often - usually it was "Kathryn's waiter" who took care of them.

"I feel like we should ask him to join us," she said, nudging Chakotay as he approached them with another of his "deliveries". As per his usual, he favored Kathryn with extra attention, his eyes lingering on her even as he served the others drinks. She watched him as he headed back to the bar, then turned to Tom.

"Tom Paris, did you program me a boyfriend for my birthday?"

He laughed heartily. "Not specifically. But, I could make a few adjustments..."

"Something tells me no _adjustments_ would be required," Chkotay retorted with a smirk - which drew Kathryn's elbow to his side.

"It _is _my birthday," she teased.

Later, when the sun began to set, the entire party spilled out onto the beach to watch. The sun's path through the sky would have it sinking below the horizon over the ocean while the changing rays illuminated Kauai. Kathryn raised her glass in Tom's direction - he had truly attended to every detail.

The crowd quieted as the sun dipped close to the ocean, sending streaks of orange, red, yellow, and pink across the water. And sure enough, NaPali began to glow, its lush colors in spotlight as the sky behind it grew darker.

Entranced and completely relaxed, Kathryn leaned against Chakotay, who was sitting comfortably beside her. If they hadn't all been under the island's gentle spell - and lightened by their many drinks - the gesture might have drawn some interested glances. As it was, if the others had even noticed, it simply blended in with their carefree mood.

"It's _beautiful_...," she declared, dreamily.

Chakotay pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. _"Happy Birthday, Kathryn." _

They sat like that as the last of the day's light faded, watching the changing hues, highlights, and shadows as the sun fell away.

The party transitioned into night mode as the sky turned dark, with lanterns and torches lit, and louder music that was fit for dancing.

Hours later, Kathryn found herself tucked into her bed, the alcohol having dulled her senses and relaxed her body into a blissful state of drowsiness. She couldn't precisely recall how she'd ended up here, but in her vague memory of events she remembered Chakotay tending to her, settling her in after the party had ended. Her breath caught in her chest, panicked, as she suddenly wondered if he was still here, and what, exactly, had transpired. She called out for him, but there was only silence.

Filled with equal parts relief and disappointment, she drew the blankets tighter and allowed the drowsiness to pull her back into sleep, with all cares postponed until morning.

* * *

Early morning on the bridge was bright, and louder than Kathryn had anticipated, but of course her senses were reeling _just a bit_ from the previous night's festivities and she was, therefore, not the best judge of the character of...well, anything, really.

She'd managed to make it to her shift on time, with every bit of her usual polished exterior, but her head throbbed with every sound above a whisper and the minute she entered _Voyager's _command center, she was eager for the retreat of her ready room.

But, first things first - and as she assumed the center seat, the glances and knowing smiles from the bridge crew not lost upon her, she realized that, despite her aches and exhaustion, the glow of last night's festivities had not completely left her. In fact, she felt quite buoyed by all that had taken place.

There was one nagging issue that tugged at her sense of wellbeing, and as she turned her head and met the gentle smile of her First Officer, something in her braced for impact - to her ego or some other presently delicate part of herself.

_"Commander," _she said in acknowledgment, while an image of him helping her intoxicated self into her bed flashed unbidden in her mind. He had not "loved her and left her," she knew - his absence from her quarters when she woke last night was enough indication that they did not trample over any lines, so-to-speak - but it was quite possible she had rather thrown herself at him sometime between their exit from the party and his departure from her room, and she felt a nervous pang in her stomach and she considered what kind of impression she might have left.

"Good morning," he said, and as she regarded him and his simple words, she could discern no sign that anything exceptionally _awkward _had transpired between them.

She took in a breath before hazarding mention of the previous night. "Thank you," she said - and her tone was lowered, meant for him only, "for making sure I got 'home' okay last night."

He smiled warmly and easily, and it relaxed her instantly. "It was my pleasure, Kathryn. I hope you enjoyed your birthday."

She shook her head lightly - of course that was his concern this morning. "It was _lovely, _Chakotay - I had a wonderful time. It was so thoughtful, of all of you."

"I'm amazed that we pulled it off. It was almost a month of scheming and planning that we somehow managed to keep from you."

It touched her rather deeply, that they had put so much effort into her birthday party. And the result, that most of the crew had gotten a rare night of fun and celebration, brought a happy kind of relief she'd forgotten meant so much.

"You know, we really should celebrate more often - the special occasions," she said, glancing now at the starfield on the forward viewscreen, her right hand raised in front of her. "Out here, we only really have each other."

He laughed, and she turned back to look at him, somewhat confused by his reaction to her profound thoughts, and she must have given him a look, because he held up a hand. "Yesterday, I feared you'd never forgive me for orchestrating such a _fuss_ for your birthday. That today you're sitting here telling me it should happen more often...well, let's just say, that's much more than I was hoping for."

She softened and shrugged, her smile returning. "I'm glad I could surprise you, too."

His eyes were bright as they met hers, and she felt thankful in that moment that they were here together, in the same place. Something passed between them - recognition, a shared sense of gratitude and affection, and, just beneath it, what felt to her like a tangible, blossoming sense of hope.

A small beeping on his side console drew him away from their locked eyes, alerting him that all departments had reported in. He glanced over the status reports, and happily reported all systems nominal. "Let's hope it's the order of the day," he added.

She nodded in agreement, then sat up straight in her chair and placed both hands on the arm rests. "If you don't mind, Commander - I could really use some coffee."

He smiled, having predicted this next move of hers even before she arrived on the bridge.

She rose and retreated for her ready room. He watched her exit, and as soon as the doors hissed shut behind her, Tom Paris turned in his seat at the helm.

"I'd call that a success," he said, beaming.


	5. Chapter 5

I know...I am the lamest wanna-be VOY author ever...but, at last, here is a new chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

The quiet of the day ended abruptly, with Ensign Kim's voice cutting into the calm, muted hum of the bridge.

"Commander, I'm picking up what appears to be a distress call."

"On screen" Chakotay said automatically, then, over the comm, "Captain to the bridge."

"Audio only, Commander."

"Let's hear it, then."

A burst of static came through, then silence. Chakotay looked back at Harry Kim - his hands were flying over the panels at his station as he worked to clear up the transmission. He acknowledged the Commander's unspoken request with a slight nod that said, _I'm on it._

Kathryn appeared on the bridge a moment later and she called for an update before taking her chair.

"Distress call, Captain," Chakotay said as he watched her assume the center seat, her posture all business. It was not lost on him, the immediate sense of relief he felt, knowing they would tackle this _whatever-it-is_ together. "We're trying to clean it up."

Kathryn nodded, then turned to her First Officer with a barely detectable sigh. "Well, we _almost_ made it through the day."

"Captain, the signal is emanating from a planetary body approximately 1.5 light-years away," Tuvok announced. "Long-range sensors indicate it is _class P, _with eighty-five percent of the surface covered in water-ice. Nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere. It orbits an M0V-class star, along with five other planetary bodies."

"I almost have the audio, Captain," Harry Kim reported, not without pride.

There was an abrupt change in the signal and after a moment of loud static, a voice broke through. Patchy at first, then clearer and stronger.

"...to any...Denix...Koldera...down..."

More of the message came through each time it looped, and eventually the details became clear. An unknown number of inhabitants on a planet called _Koldera Minor_ were in need of rescue and medical assistance, having suffered some kind of natural disaster.

"Mr. Paris, set a course, maximum warp," Kathryn ordered without hesitation. "Chakotay, alert sickbay."

_Voyager's_ engines pulsed as Tom changed course and increased warp. "At current speed, we will reach the planet in approximately six-and-a-half hours," he reported from the helm.

Kathryn nodded to herself, then stood and addressed the bridge. "I want the relief shift in here for the next six hours. We'll return after that. Sooner if anything changes." She turned to Chakotay - he was already on top of it, working on the early shift change and punching notes into the log. After a moment, he opened a ship-wide comm channel, and called the next shift in for duty.

Kathryn stood for a moment longer and scanned the room, then sat back down in the center seat. It would only take a few minutes for the relief crew to arrive, and then she thought she would use the next few hours to catch up on some busywork - reports and the other "paperwork" that always seemed to litter her desk.

Chakotay regarded her for a moment. Six hours of peace (hopefully) before they had to dive in to this next crisis, but he knew she would neither relax nor stop working in this brief respite.

"How about an early dinner?" he said, determined to force her to take a bit of downtime. After all, who knew what the evening would hold, or how many more hours they'd be putting in.

She considered his offer for a moment, and after a brief battle in her head over the mental "to-do" list she'd just composed, she nodded in his direction. "Alright. Dinner."

* * *

Kathryn appeared outside of Chakotay's quarters about an hour-and-a-half after they left the bridge - there were _just a few_ things she had to attend to before she took any off-duty time - and by then, dinner was already waiting.

"I was getting ready to invent an emergency, just to tear you away," he said, smiling as he gestured to invite her in.

"Sorry...had to tend to a couple of things," she said, gesturing with one hand up in the direction of the bridge (confirming that her delay was indeed work-related). "But I'm here now." She made her way to the dining area, took in the spread he'd prepared and felt a pang of guilt. "It looks wonderful, Chakotay."

She was still running a mile a minute, but as she sat down, took in a deep breath, and allowed some of her cares to settle into a resting state, she felt herself relaxing, mentally and physically.

He sat down across from her and filled their glasses with water.

"Salad?"

"Please."

* * *

The meal was long and leisurely and delicious.

Still seated at the dining table, Kathryn leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. As he cleared their plates, she thought about how it was nearly time to return to duty. Her head throbbed _just a bit_ at the thought, and she wondered briefly if she would have been better off spending this lull working in her ready room, instead of relaxing thoroughly and misleading her body into thinking she was done for the day.

Her First Officer had been right, though - a real dinner and some "down time" was the better option. Had she holed up in her ready room with her pile of work, she'd no-doubt have a _real_ headache by now.

She glanced over at him - he was standing in front of the replicator, recycling the rest of their dishes - and couldn't help the small smile that spread across her face.

Once again, she was reminded of how thoughtful Chakotay was, and what a central part of her life he had become. She smiled because it was all so unlikely - the two of them, here, like this - but now she couldn't imagine it any other way. As _Voyager's_ command duo, they were a team better and stronger than she had ever hoped or thought possible.

As Chakotay returned to the table with two cups of steaming black coffee, Kathryn felt grateful that circumstances, as trying as they were at times, had brought them together.

He gestured to the living area across the room, and Kathryn rose, stretched, and moved with him to sit on the couch. He handed her a cup and then sat a couple of feet away, stretching his legs out and leaning back contentedly.

Kathryn inhaled deeply the warm, rich aroma of her coffee - too hot to drink - and likewise sat back with a slow exhale.

"Do you think anyone will notice if we don't show up for duty?"

He laughed. "Perhaps we can set up a holo-emitter. Project holograms of ourselves."

"Oh, I like it. We must see to it immediately," she said, her laughter mixing with his as she pictured said holograms giving orders on the bridge.

Then, turning serious suddenly and leaning slightly in his direction, "You know, I do often think about how each side mission - be it to explore some new phenomenon, or to render aid - increases the length of our journey home."

He turned to look at her, somewhat surprised at the admission - not its contents, exactly, but that she'd chosen to articulate it.

"Don't get me wrong," she said quickly to his curious expression. "We're Starfleet officers, and this is what we do. Holding to our principles...it's even more important for us, stranded here...distant from all that grounds and guides us. And I won't waver from that."

She sipped at her coffee and then shifted, drawing one leg up and under her and turning so that she could face him more directly.

"Obviously, we need supplies. To replenish our energy stores. But sometimes, I wonder if we don't owe it to this crew, to take the straight track home - diversions, exploration...rescue missions be damned."

Chakotay regarded her for a moment. "That's maybe five percent of you talking. The other ninety-five percent...well, she's quite proud of all we've discovered and accomplished scientifically...the many new species we've successfully interacted with...those we've helped. That we've continued a Starfleet mission, even out here, alone in the Delta Quadrant. And," he paused, considering the best way to frame his thoughts. "The exploring, the science, the rescue missions...you - _we_ - are ensuring that _Voyager_ has a meaningful and important existence regardless of her physical location. Sure, we could fly straight and get home faster, but we're still looking at decades. In the interim, we have to live our lives - we have to fill our days with meaning."

She stared at him with a mixture of gratitude and affection. She could tell he wasn't done sharing his thoughts, so she waited. Took another sip of her coffee.

They sat in silence for a moment before he continued, hoping as he did that his words wouldn't be too heavy for the moment. "While we are of course driven in our mission to get this ship home, we can't completely sacrifice the present - we can't...write off today in the name of a future that may not arrive in our lifetimes, or...at all."

It was something they didn't normally talk about, and that she tended to avoid even thinking about - _not_ getting home. The intensity of emotions there - the guilt, the sadness, the sharp, stinging sense of responsibility for having made the decision that irrevocably altered the lives of the 150 souls under her command - it was a bit too much to dwell on. Too much to hold fully in her heart and mind while still driving this ship forward with purpose.

He looked at her, reading quite accurately her thoughts as they threatened to radiate into the darker parts of her mind, and reached for her free hand. "And the other side of it, of course, is that, in all our exploring, who knows when we might find the fast train home? There could be a technology, a species out there, who could help us get there more quickly than we can imagine."

She squeezed his hand, the melancholy that had threatened lifting at his words. It wasn't that she needed him to "talk her out of" those difficult thoughts - it was that she needed to know he was with her. That they were in this together.

"You know, you've said that to me before - about _the_ _present._" She took a careful sip of her coffee, her other hand still wrapped with his.

"I remember," he said. "Feels like a lifetime ago now."

And it did feel that way, but what caught Chakotay a bit off-guard was how easily he could still conjure that exact moment, and many others from their days planetside. Not just the words, the conversations, but the sensations - the warmth of the soil in the garden, the softness of the grass, the smell of the air, fresh with earth and rain... The contentment that had filled his being in a way he'd not been able to replicate since.

"I'm glad that you're here, to remind me that _right now_ is really all we have," she said, looking at him with eyes he couldn't quite read. And then, leaning toward him, her voice soft and low - "we have to make the most of it."

He smiled, agreeing with her assessment, but also wondering, in some small part of himself he normally kept tucked away (much as he usually did those memories of New Earth), if there was something more behind her words.

Although their relationship had settled into a deep and abiding _friendship_, there was, and had always been, an attraction between them. Most of the time it was comfortably quiescent, but every now and again (more often than either of them would admit), it was simply too _present_, too real, to ignore completely.

It was forbidden territory, though, given their positions, and Chakotay knew it was an issue he could not - and would not - press. She had made clear her boundaries, some time ago, and so, it would be up to her, to initiate a change.

Of course, that often left Chakotay, at moments odd and not, trying to discern whether such a change was taking place. Kathryn Janeway was a complex woman, and though he knew and understood her better than anyone on the ship (and arguably, anyone back home), she was still capable of surprising him, or catching him off-guard with a shift in mood.

In more "traditional" situations, he'd assume her words, her tone - the depths revealed in her bright eyes just moments ago - an invitation. But this was her, and this was him; they were _here_, and ultimately, he knew better. He'd leaned long ago not to let his hopes rise, and instead, to take comfort in the relationship they _were_ able to have - the friendship that had sustained them both through times thick and thin.

Even so, he knew that if she should ever "open that door", he would happily walk through. Though for the most part he had properly stowed his deeper love for his commanding officer, those feelings were still a part of him.

He was lost with that thought when she started laughing suddenly. She drew her hand away from his and brought it up to join the other on her cup. She glanced down at the dark liquid with mock inquisition, and then back at him. "Honestly, Chakotay - what did you put in this coffee? I've gone all maudlin."

He laughed, the moment passing - as it always did. He swallowed the small pinch of disappointment that crept into his breath, and moved forward - away from those feelings - as he always did.

"Can I get you a refill? I'm going to have tea now, but...coffee for you?"

"Thanks, that would be lovely." She handed him her cup, and moments later he returned with a fresh one.

"Almost time to get back," she said, watching him retake his seat. "But, we have a little more time yet, before we turn our attention to the people of _Koldera Minor."_

The shared a companionable silence, the warm aroma of her coffee mingling with the scent of his tea, their thoughts drifting likewise.

She regarded him for a moment before breaking the quiet. "Thank you, again, Chakotay, for the lovely party last night."

"I'm just glad you enjoyed it, and that we're still speaking to each other," he said, grinning.

They reminisced for a bit, over memorable moments from last night with their friends and crewmates...talked about when the next party might be.

Kathryn had asked the computer to alert them 45 minutes before it was time to return to the bridge, so they'd have adequate time to transition from their relaxed evening, back to duty, and when the alert came, she began to switch gears almost immediately.

She put her coffee cup aside and rose from the couch. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner and company," she said as she straightened out her uniform top and smoothed her pants. "I'm going to swing by my quarters before going to the bridge. I'll see you up there, okay?"

She made her way toward the door, and he rose to see her out. "Koldera Minor awaits us," he said as the doors hissed open in front of them.

"And may they indeed benefit from _Voyager's_ continued _meaningful_ existence here in the Delta Quadrant," she said sincerely before exiting into the corridor.

"See you up there," he called after her.


End file.
